SheWolf, Part 2
by Porcelain Destiny
Summary: Logan is still hunting for his mate when one of his worst enemies attacks the school. Can their bond withstand the test of time and the ravages of the past?
1. Chapter 1: Nightmare

Ok, sorry for the long wait, I've had some serious writer's block! But I hope that my ideas/this story are everything you've been waiting for! Happy reading! And don't forget to review!

"Take them out. I think yer beautiful with or without 'em," he whispered, tickling her ear with his tongue. He bit an earring and tugged on it with his teeth. She giggled softly. She reached up and pulled out each earring. The holes quickly closed. He undid her hemp necklaces. He wanted to see her in all her naked glory. She undid the lace bra she was wearing. He smiled. She was perfect. More beautiful than any other being he knew or could even imagine. Not that he spent a lot of time dreaming about anything other than her. Her lips, her eyes, her mind, she was so perfect. She smiled, growling softly. He moved in on her. His dominance won over as she lay, belly up, neck exposed. He bit her as he slipped inside her. She whimpered softly, arching her back and thrusting her hips towards his. Suddenly, as she climaxed, she let out a bloodcurdling scream. He looked down and saw only blood. Where had she gone? He looked around frantically. Finally, he found her cowering in a corner. She pointed a shaking finger towards the door. Stryker.

Stryker stood there, holding a swaddle of cloth. He lunged for it, claws out, but missed by a mile. He roared angrily. He lunged again and again. He felt like he was moving in slow motion. Stryker easily stepped out of his way. Then, just like that, Stryker left the room. Logan's heart pounded in his ears. He thundered down the hallway, searching every room. He couldn't find him. Stryker was gone. He roared as he passed a bedroom, a shadow catching the corner of his eye. He turned and entered the room. The window was open. Stryker had gotten away. He'd let them down. He'd let _her _down. He roared and sliced through the bed frame. It sagged under its own weight. He ripped through the armoire, sending wood and clothing everywhere.

"Logan," someone said off in the distance. But he didn't care. He was too enraged to stop. "Logan," he heard again. His ears pricked at the sound. The voice was familiar but he couldn't remember from where. Why was it he could never remember? A new rage fueled him as he continued to slice and dice the room he stood in. He stormed into the bathroom and easily cut through the porcelain sink. Water sprayed across his face. "Logan!"

He sat up with a roar. He grabbed the person in front of him and squeezed. It wasn't his Aya. But they smelled familiar. He sniffed the air. It was the white-haired witch. It was Ororo. He let her go.

"Storm, I'm—are ya hurt?" he asked. He hated how pathetic he sounded. She shook her head and placed a petite hand on the side of his face. He could feel the beads of sweat slide down his forehead.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly. She perched on the edge of the bed and grabbed his massive hand. His claws slipped back between his knuckles. He nodded firmly though he wasn't sure it was true. He could feel his heart racing. He longed for Aya. But he couldn't have her. He'd been searching for years now, with no luck. All clues led to dead ends or dead people as he searched and searched for his mate. "You were dreaming of her again, weren't you? Logan, I don't know how much longer you can do this to yourself," she began.

"I'm not givin' up on 'er," he replied curtly. She nodded sadly. With a final brush of his cheek, she left the room. The light in the hall flicked off. Logan sighed. He had to keep searching for her. He threw back the covers and put his legs over the side of the bed. He held his head in his hands. He was tired of this, that was for sure. But he wouldn't give up on her. He stood and dressed quickly. He shouldered his bag, the one he kept stocked, and left the room. It was time for a little road trip.


	2. Chapter 2: Fortune Telling

**Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me through their long process! I apologize for taking such a long time to post this story but I promise I'll be cranking out the chapters within the next few weeks! Enjoy and don't forget to review!**

Logan climbed from his bike. Well, technically it was Scott's bike but he'd borrowed it for a little while. He stared at the dilapidated bar for a moment, wondering if it was worth getting his hopes up. He knew this latest clue wouldn't lead anywhere. He sighed and walked inside. The interior was dim, with lights hanging above each booth that lined the wall. The bar itself was vacant, except for the lone bartender, who was stereotypically cleaning glasses with a white rag. Logan walked over to the man and dropped down on one of the wooden stools.

"Whiskey," he ordered. The bartender nodded without a word, and poured him a shot. Logan threw it back. He was trying to figure out the best way to approach this situation. He knew the person he was looking for was in a back room. And he didn't like walking into corners. "Where's Cassandra?" he questioned the bartender. The man pointed an arthritic finger towards a closed door at the end of the row of booths. _Figures, _Logan thought. He got up, dropped his money on the counter and headed for whatever waited behind that door. He reached it and with apprehension, opened it.

Cassandra was a curvy woman, with jet black hair that reached to her thigh. She had long hands that reminded Logan of a skeleton. Her nails were pointed and painted black. Her plump lips were accented with fire-engine-red lipstick. Her eyes, Logan finally looked long enough to appreciate, were completely black. There was no white, no iris, no pupil. It was all black. She was lying sensuously on a leatherback sofa and smoking a cigarette.

"Welcome," she crooned. "Have a seat." Logan walked over to the nearest cushy chair and sat down. Cassandra gestured to the table lined with spirits. "Help yourself."

"No thanks. Look, I'm—"

"Looking for someone, yes, I know," she muttered calmly. Logan was getting pissed. She was so calm and relaxed about the whole thing. Was this worth staying? He thought about it. Yes, if it meant finding Aya. "Her name is Aya. You lost her years ago and now you want her back. You've been searching for a long time. Finding her will cost you."

"Cost me what?" Logan said. He knew she'd want payment but there was something in the way she said that that he didn't like.

"A touch."

"A touch? Why the hell would I touch you?" he asked. She smiled coyly. She rubbed her hands together slowly, the cigarette's ash burning longer and longer.

"My life lasts longer the longer I touch people. I see the future but every time I look into the future, I lose time off my life. I need a touch, just one touch, to continue living," she explained softly. Logan, without hesitation, stuck his hand out. If it meant getting Aya back, he would give up his immortality. Cassandra reached her slender hand forward and their skin collided. It was like a shock of electricity had passed through him. Logan felt dizzy and lightheaded but Cassandra quickly let go. "I have seen your memories. You really love her. Go to Bellevue. You will find her there."

"Where in Bellevue? That's a big hospital," Logan replied. Cassandra closed her eyes.

"I can't see any more than that. My fortune telling is limited when the person is lifeless," she replied gently. Logan's anger flared. She was dead? They'd killed his precious mate. He stood up and left, without thanking her. He heard Cassandra chuckle quietly to herself. He stormed from the bar and climbed back on his bike, determined to go to Bellevue and find his lover, even if it meant a trip to the morgue.


End file.
